Uncertainty can often
blur your surroundings.
The map is always there,
the lines signify the path
you need to follow.
You simply have to find
It is all in your hands.
© 2017 j.g. lewis
original content and images ©j.g. lewis
A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .
There is very little that can be said about Eric Clapton that hasn’t already been said; except I saw him last night.
I’ve been listening to the musician, in all stages of his career, over the past five decades and he has been around even longer than that.
Through the years I’ve grown to appreciate Clapton more as a performer, recording artist, and as one of the greatest guitarists of all time, but I’ve never seen him live; until last night.
He was everything (and more) that I expected, playing selections from his lengthy career, and paying homage not only the blues artists who have influenced him but also to friends no longer with us.
Clapton and his band kicked of the Toronto concert with a cover of The Band’s The Shape I’m in, a fitting tribute to his longtime Canadian friend Robbie Robertson. Then, later, a tune he once recorded with Tina Turner: Tearing Us Apart.
The show was filled with both popular hits and selections you could tell he felt like playing. With a catalogue like Clapton’s there could have been even more hits, but he did what he had to do.
At age 79, Clapton’s seemingly effortless prowess on electric and acoustic guitar was both mature and effective. There were a lot of “wow” moments.
It was quite an evening.
What else can I say?
I'm like a pencil;
Still I write.
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
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Two nights ago, I was listening to The London Howlin’ Wolf Sessions, the 1971 album where the Chicago bluesman is backed by Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood, Bill Wyman, and Charlie Watts.
Yesterday, walking home from a mid-day appointment in downtown Toronto, a hopped-up ‘70s muscle car stopped at a red light, the sounds of Shattered (from the Rolling Stone’s 1978 Some Girls) blaring through its open windows. It’s one of those songs where you especially notice the strength, simplicity, and sophistication of Charlie Watts’ drumming.
When I arrived home yesterday, I heard the news that Watts had died, at age 80, peacefully in his sleep.
Often you hear the news of a famous musician passing away, but so few cause me to reflect as I have been.
See, as far as I’m concerned, Charlie Watts was always there.
He was the heartbeat of the Rolling Stones; in fact, he was a Rolling Stone about as long as I’ve been a human being.
The music was always there. Certain Rolling Stones albums, or songs, mark my life as they do most anybody from my generation (or older or younger).
As a drummer in my younger days, I always marveled at how Watts could get such a big sound from a small kit. He was not flashy, yet his jazzy inflections tastefully or tenderly anchored the band’s blues-based sound.
Watts did not compete for attention, but allowed the space for his band mates to create.
You could hear him, right there.
I was a big fan. I’ve got more Charlie Watts solo albums than I do those by any other individual Rolling Stone.
Somehow today, I cherish these albums a little more than I did yesterday.
R.I.P. Charlie Watts.